Trials of the Grey Warden Commander
by jenncgf
Summary: Everyone assumed that the reason there were so few Grey Wardens in Ferelden was because of only recently being allowed back in the country.  Duncan knew better.  One-shot.


_A/N: I own none of the property of the Dragon Age franchise. I just like to play here and pretend I understand it. _

-0-0-0-

"I want to become a Grey Warden."

Duncan blinked as he looked up from his ale. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his fellow Wardens look at each other (behind his back, they thought, but he hadn't stayed alive for the last few decades by ignoring his peripheral vision) and shrug at each other. This wasn't a new occurrence, necessarily, but normally the person who would approach them would have been wearing armor and not a full outfit of skirts and corsets and approach them in the middle of Tapster's tavern.

"You do, miss?"

The woman looked at him. She was young and he supposed she had a relatively lean look about her, at least for a dwarf. She was wearing clothing that indicated that she was a server at the tavern and was carrying a tray. She seemed a touch nervous, but Duncan had seen that before, so he dismissed it as a normal reaction. She gathered her courage, however, and straightened her shoulders before speaking. "I do. I know I can help fight darkspawn. I just know it!"

"What are your skills?" Thus far, all she had shown was an efficiency in serving drinks and food. That was a useful skill, to be sure, but genlocks never seemed to want to place an order when entering a tavern. At least this woman was a dwarf so she should understand the dangers that darkspawn presented. After all, in Orzammar the darkspawn were a constant threat, unlike on the surface of Thedas.

The server lifted her chin proudly. "I can fight with daggers and stealth," she announced with more than a touch of arrogance to her tone. "I practice all the time, and I've gotten really good."

Duncan raised his eyebrow. He wasn't sure if she was blustering or if she honestly believed in her abilities. He decided to test her. "Very well," he said. The woman smiled and drew to her full height. She looked at his navel as he stood to join her. "We will assess your skills. Is there a room we can use so we don't frighten the patrons?"

She paused for a moment with a surprised look on her face. She then turned and said, "Yes. There's a private room in the back. I'm sure Corra will let us use it." He nodded and he and the other two Wardens followed her to the back of the tavern.

Once there, she turned to face them as they closed the door. Duncan inclined his head. "Do you need to borrow some weapons?" he asked. "I don't see you carrying any."

The woman waved her hand at him dismissively. "Of course not! I wouldn't be any sort of fighter if I wasn't always prepared for anything!" Duncan thought that she was wiser than the initial impression she had made suggested, so he nodded his head at her. She eyed him speculatively. "Go ahead and attack me," she said confidently. "I'll show you what I can do. I have a trademark hidden stash of weapons on my person at all times, ready for any action that comes."

Duncan raised an eyebrow at this. The woman had never seen him fight before; this was normally not the best idea. Still, if she was that good of a fighter, then he supposed this would be an excellent way to push her abilities to their limits. He unsheathed his sword, opting to start with just one weapon. He could always draw his dagger if she proved to be a serious challenge. He took a deep breath, then lunged at her, crossing the room in three long strides.

On the first stride, he saw her, still confident, reaching down to the floor.

On the second, she pulled the skirt up to her knees and started to rummage up in her skirt. Something was wrong; she looked panicked.

On the third, he made the split decision to pass her instead of engage in the fight. Her skirt was up at her thighs now and she was still working frantically underneath it. His brow raised involuntarily and he stepped past her before pivoting on one foot and preparing for a weapon to come right at him.

When he turned around, his eyes widened and he turned back. He thanked the Maker, not for the first time in his life, that he was dark-skinned. It hid the blush that covered his face at the … inappropriate ... sight he had just witnessed. When he first turned to face her, he had seen that her skirt was up at her hips and she was desperately trying to unstrap her weapons. Small daggers had been strapped to each of her thighs and were apparently stuck in their sheaths. He gave her time to prepare and counted to himself silently.

One, two, three …

four, five, six …

seven, eight …

He heard a throat clearing behind him and chanced another peek. The woman was standing there, a sheepish look on her face. The skirt had dropped and was barely covering her intimate places (of course she had gone without smallclothes!) and she finally had a tiny, useless, ornamental dagger in her right hand. Apparently, she had not been able to work the left dagger free from its strap.

"Do you want to fight now?" she asked, although she knew that she would not be joining the Grey Wardens that day.

Duncan looked up at his fellow Wardens. Roald was barely suppressing a smirk and Daniel was studiously looking at the floor. Duncan sighed and walked back to the door.

-0-0-0-

If it hadn't been for Duncan's quick reflexes, the man might have knocked him over as he ran across the road. As it was, Duncan barely got out of the man's way and the man flattened Daniel instead. Duncan helped the man right himself and get dusted off. Daniel got up on his own, giving the newcomer the evil eye.

"Are you all right?" he asked as the man cocked his head to one side to study him. "What are you running away from?"

The man looked at him, startled, for a moment, then relaxed. "Oh, that. Well... it's a long story and one you don't need to worry about." He extended a hand for Duncan to shake. "My name is Jaried. Nice to meet you. Sorry about running over your friend there."

Duncan accepted the handshake. As he did, he couldn't help but notice the number of scars on the man's palm and arm. "It is no trouble. No harm was done. I am Duncan, a Grey Warden."

Jaried's eyes grew huge. "A Grey Warden? That's fantastic!" He grinned at them with a light in his eyes that Duncan recognized. This man was interested in the Wardens. He looked around and then lowered his voice. "Look, I think I have a little time. Is it true that you will recruit even blood mages into the Grey Wardens?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "It's not something we actively look for, but it's not out of the realm of possibility. After all, blood magic is very effective against the darkspawn." He lowered his gaze purposefully to Jaried's hand where the majority of the scars lay. "Why do you ask?"

The man blushed a little. "You noticed, huh?" At Duncan's nod, he continued. "Look, the templars are after me but I don't hurt other people. It's just that, well, it's really useful to be able to tap into greater power when your mana is low, especially with lyrium kept in a stranglehold by the Chantry. And in the Circle they don't exactly embrace alternate means of getting energy. So ..." he drifted off. "Hey, do you think I could become a Warden? I'd be happy to show you what I can do."

Duncan thought about it a moment. It was true that the Wardens were woefully low in numbers in general, but the need was most keenly felt amongst the mages. There was only one active mage in the Ferelden wardens at present, and that just wasn't enough with the blight looming over them. Before he could respond, however, the man pointed.

"Here they come! I'll show you what I can do right now!" With that, Jaried ran to the edge of the road as three heavily armored templars came over the rise. With a shout, the blood mage pulled out a knife and slit his arm from wrist to elbow. The templars stopped, their body language wary, as Jaried started to chant.

But there was a problem. In his haste, Jaried had slit the major vein in his wrist. It took but a moment for him to bleed out and fall to the ground. Duncan's eyes widened, but there was nothing he could do. He had no healer with him; the only Warden mage they had used offensive magic and was miles away, on his way to Denerim to meet with the King's assembled forces.

One of the templars removed his helm before kneeling over Jaried. He also removed a gauntlet and checked the man's vital signs. "He's dead," the templar solemnly stated before standing again and pulling his gauntlet back on. With a shrug, the templar looked at Duncan. "I'd thank you for stopping this blood mage, but it's obvious that he was an idiot." And with that, he put his helm on and turned to leave, the other two templars following behind him.

-0-0-0-

Irving, the First Enchanter, had promised Duncan that the young man standing in front of him was a talented healer and was second in his class. Unfortunately, the young man who was first in his class had escaped the Tower the day before and was facing solitary confinement when he was captured and returned. Still, out of the many mages that the Circle Tower produced, Duncan thought he could do far worse than the second-best healer that the Tower offered.

"Irving speaks highly of you," Duncan observed. The mage stood up straighter, obviously proud. "We could use a good healer. Is becoming a Grey Warden something you would be interested in?"

The mage nodded his head emphatically. "I really would like to make a difference, Ser," he said earnestly. "I'm sure you need more mages, and every able body can only help with a blight coming, right? I have studied all my life to master my spells, and if I can use my talents to help stop those awful darkspawn, I would be honored."

Duncan nodded. The young mage seemed sincere in his desire to help, and with Irving's recommendation, Duncan thought that he should give this young man a shot. He smiled at the lad (Maker, the young man was an adult, and he was thinking of him as a lad? He was getting old!) and began extending his hand to shake with the young mage.

Unfortunately, Duncan's thumb caught on the metal edge of his armor. Duncan had been meaning to get it fixed for some time, but kept forgetting with the blight looming over Thedas. The rough edge put a thin slice into his thumb. It was annoying, but fortunately it was a small scratch. Still, a few drops of blood welled out from the injury.

"My apologies. I caught my hand on – are you all right?" Duncan grew concerned when the mage's face blanched to the color of sheets on a nuptial bed. The man trembled and he couldn't stop staring at Duncan's hand where the minor injury had occurred. As Duncan began to open his mouth to speak, the young man's eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted dead to the floor.

Duncan took in a deep breath and sighed it out. "Ugh." He turned and went to meet with Irving to inform him that he would not be taking the young healer with him that day.

-0-0-0-

"Greetings. You are Duncan, then?"

Duncan was caught studying the woman's face. "Yes, I am. Lady Sewell, I presume?" The lady in question curtsied more gracefully than Queen Anora herself before fixing her purple eyes directly on Duncan's face. He blinked a little as he swayed toward her involuntarily; that little mole just below her lip was just fascinating.

"Please, call me Mhairi." Lady Sewell smiled then, a truly genuine smile that warmed Duncan's heart and made certain parts of him stir in appreciation. He thought he heard Daniel groaning behind him as he reminded himself that this woman was a recruit, not a conquest, and he bowed stiffly to the noble standing before him. He was surprised to find that she had switched to perfect Orlesian and was speaking to Daniel about his home. For his part, Daniel seemed stunned and barely stammered out more than a word or two at a time. Once she was finished conversing with Daniel, she turned her attention back to Duncan.

"I did not realize you spoke Orlesian, La- er, Mhairi." Duncan was curious, now.

"Oh, but of course!" Mhairi clapped her hands gracefully and excitedly. "I also speak Elvish, Dwarven, Antivan, Qunari and some of the dialects used in the Free Marches." Duncan was about to answer how impressed he was, but she interrupted before he could compliment her. "Oh, it's nothing. I learned all those by the time I was eight. After that, I went on to learn fighting technique from the masters that Father sent to me, so I can use any weapon necessary, and even scrounge up impromptu ones on the spot. That took until I was thirteen. After that, for the past three years, it was policy and rulership, in case I ever have need of that." She focused her purple eyes on Duncan intently. "In case King Cailan chose me to be his queen, my father wanted me to be prepared."

"I … see." Far be it for Duncan to contradict the lady, but it seemed improbable. He decided to change the subject instead. He cleared his throat. "I understand from the note your father sent me that you are interested in joining the Wardens."

"I am!" She said excitedly before bursting into tears.

_What … did I say something wrong?_ Duncan looked to Roald and Daniel for help, but they just shrugged at him with uncomfortable glances. At least Daniel no longer looked like he was about to pick up Lady Sewell and carry her around so her feet wouldn't get tired. He felt a bit of distress, then, but as he turned back he saw that the lady had composed herself. Her porcelain face was perfect. Her makeup hadn't even smudged. Duncan wondered if perhaps he had imagined the outburst. Mentally shrugging, he decided to move forward.

"Shall we test your skills, My Lady?" At this, Mhairi started silently crying again, only this time, she didn't have a full outburst – instead, Duncan watched in morbid fascination as a solitary drop made a path from the corner of her eye down her cheek and then fell to the ground. Then, another one followed.

Mhairi didn't seem to notice, however. She continued speaking normally, as if nothing was wrong. "That seems reasonable, Duncan." She drew her twin blades expertly from her sheaths as Duncan prepared himself. Immediately, Mhairi was surrounded by several large, burly men, all of whom looked at her in adoration. Daniel was one of them.

_Get back over here!_ was the look that Duncan gave the Warden. Daniel looked at Duncan confusedly for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. He sheathed his weapons and walked back to Duncan, muttering, "Sorry," under his breath as he passed. Duncan thanked the Maker that Roald preferred men, although at a glance at Roald, Duncan wasn't as sure of that anymore. Roald looked rather stunned himself.

Duncan, for his part, didn't quite know what to make of it. "My Lady," he began as he lowered his weapons, "I don't believe I can spar with you with the men surrounding you...?" He helplessly indicated her retinue.

Mhairi still had tears streaming down her face, one at a time, although her face looked perfectly composed. Duncan wondered how long it took her to have a good cry if she managed only one tear at a time, and he also wondered how she managed to avoid having her eyes turn red. If anything, the woman looked like she had the light of Andraste herself enlightening her entire face.

Duncan was beginning to hate Mhairi.

She turned to the group surrounding her. "Oh, yes. These men always get in the way. They're just so devoted to me." She giggled, the sound tinkling like the finest music played on the finest instruments. It was disconcertingly odd against the continued dampness on her face.

_Maybe she has a glandular problem?_ Duncan was too polite to ask.

Mhairi Sewell, master of languages at age eight, weapons at age thirteen, and politics at sixteen, spoke more. "We can still spar. I promise that they won't get in the way. Will you, gentlemen?" And with that, the tears just magically stopped flowing and instantaneously dried without a trace. Daniel started to move toward Mhairi as if in a daze, and Duncan had to hold an arm out to physically restrain him from walking farther.

"Uhm, well … My Lady, I should go now. Perhaps we can spar another time?" Duncan wasn't afraid of the bodyguards or the charm or the skill level. No, not that. He was afraid that by the end of the first week, the entirety of Ferelden's Grey Wardens would end up all possessed. He was sure that this woman was some sort of demon. _I should have brought Alistair with me. _He made a hasty retreat, dragging Daniel and Roald behind him.

"But I liked her, Duncan!"

"Shut. Up."

-0-0-0-

"You know I can do this! Make me a Warden, Duncan!"

"I don't think it's a good idea-"

"Bah. We have fought together. You know what I'm capable of. And now, more than ever, you need as many Grey Wardens at your side as you can muster."

"But I am not willing to risk your life for this-"

"You're starting to sound like _him_ again ..."

"I believe that he is correct in this. Please, I do appreciate all that you have done for us, and I think under different circumstances you would make a fine Warden. But I don't wish to risk it. There is simply too much at stake."

There was a grumble. Then, "You would have let me if Father was still alive." The voice was petulant.

"I don't believe I would have. Your father made me promise not to recruit you."

"But you're _not _recruiting me! I'm _volunteering!"_

"I believe that the spirit of the promise would still be broken, Your Majesty."

A sigh. "It would have been _glorious_, you know."

Duncan closed his eyes and sighed before awkwardly patting Cailan's shoulder. "I know." Privately, he was never so glad that Maric had asked him to make that promise. "Just remember, Your Majesty, that being King and keeping the country stable is just as important as fighting the darkspawn." He closed his eyes and tried to summon his inner strength as Cailan grumbled to himself.

-0-0-0-

"And the champion of this tournament is Ser Jory!" The crowd cheered enthusiastically. The man in the center of the ring looked up and, upon seeing Duncan sitting next to Arl Eamon, bowed formally and stiffly. Duncan inclined his head to the man, who seemed to visibly swell with pride even from that distance.

"Tell me a bit more about Ser Jory, my lord?" Duncan turned to Eamon.

"He's a good lad, Duncan. He recently got married and I believe his wife is expecting their first child. He's a bit … enthusiastic … about glory in battle, but he's a good sort, morally upright and reasonably sane." Eamon lowered his voice. "He's not terribly sharp, you understand, but he's dedicated and he understands how to be a soldier. And he hasn't stopped talking about your arrival since it was announced. He was the first to sign up for the tournament, knowing you would be watching." Eamon sat back upright and joined the applause as the crowd continued cheering.

Duncan nodded to himself. _I haven't seen a reasonable recruit in six months, since Alistair's joining._ He sighed. _I suppose this is as good as it gets._ "Arl Eamon, may I meet with Ser Jory? I believe we have something to discuss." He did his best to smile politely as Eamon's face brightened.

FIN


End file.
